Chapter 24

24

E rin's breath caught in the back of her throat, a scream stifled by sheer disbelief as Magnus, like an apparition from the misty moors, stepped into the dimly lit chamber. The door groaned on its hinges, a lamenting sound that matched the tightness constricting her heart. Her eyes, wide as full moons over the Highlands, were locked onto his towering form. She had been certain Reggie's scorn for him would have barred any such encounter, yet here stood Magnus—Laird McCormack himself, his presence commanding the very air to still.

Through the thick shadows cast by the flickering candlelight, Erin could discern the hard lines of Magnus's face, the sharp angles softened only slightly by the cascade of long black hair. His broad shoulders, cloaked in a worn plaid that spoke to countless battles endured, seemed to carry the weight of the world. But it was his eyes, those deep pools of brown, that bore into her with an intensity that belied the stoic mask he wore.

"Ye shouldnae be here," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying her flustered state.

Magnus advanced, each step deliberate and sure, closing the distance between them with a predator's grace. "And yet, here I am," he replied, his laconic tone laced with an undercurrent of urgency she couldn't ignore. "Ye shouldnae be here either. Yer place is with me."

Erin's fingers gripped the edge of the rough-hewn table beside her, seeking stability in a world suddenly tilting. Reggie Hogg, that cantankerous old councilman, had expressed nothing but disdain toward her and Magnus since the day of her unwanted betrothal to Magnus. She thought his desire to see Magnus suffer would guarantee his silence, but if he had betrayed her, there must be a good reason, and a coil of fear tightened within her chest.

"Has somethin' happened?" The question spilled from her lips before she could stop it, her mind racing with possibilities. Had Hayden, the young brother Magnus so fiercely protected, succumbed to his wounds? Was their precarious hold over the clan slipping through their fingers like sand?

"Nothing ye need concern yerself with," Magnus said, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room. He stopped mere inches from her, the heat from his body like a beacon in the cool draftiness of the keep.

"Then why are ye here?" Her tone took on an edge, a reflection of the independent spirit that refused to be cowed even by the beast of a man she was bound to.

"Because despite what ye might think, nae even Reggie can dictate all me actions." His words hung between them, a challenge and a confession wrapped in one.

"Ye ken how he feels about ye," she countered, her gaze not wavering despite the fluttering in her stomach—a maelstrom caused by fear or something far more dangerous, she dared not admit. "So there is somethin' wrong. Are ye well?"

"Aye, I ken well enough," Magnus conceded, his expression unyielding as granite. "But what I feel is nae dictated by the likes of him."

Her breath hitched at the implication, and for a fleeting moment, the walls she had built around her heart seemed to tremble. Erin shook her head, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came.

"Ye have no reason to care what happens to me," she retorted, though the conviction in her voice wavered.

"Have I nae?" Magnus challenged, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly—the barest hint of a smirk that suggested he knew something she did not.

The tension in the room was a living thing, crackling like the fire that roared in the stone hearth. Erin felt herself being drawn into Magnus's orbit, the air between them charged with an energy that defied explanation.

Magnus's eyes never left Erin as he turned around, the heavy fabric of his plaid shifting with the motion. The silence hung between them like the eerie calm before a storm. "I'm as whole as I ever was," he said, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room.

Erin's heart thundered against her ribs, her hands trembling as fear knotted in her gut. "Hayden," she gasped, the name falling from her lips like a prayer. Her gaze frantically searched Magnus's stoic face for any sign of tragedy. The color drained from her cheeks as her mind conjured images of blood-soaked tartan and lifeless eyes. With a strangled cry, she clasped a hand over her mouth and collapsed into the nearest chair, her body folding in on itself. "He is passed, and that is why Reggie told ye where I was."

She had been such a fool to leave, and drag Magnus away from his brother in his final hours. She was a fool to think he wouldn't have followed until Hayden's recovery was sealed.

"Erin, lass," Magnus said, urgency threading his tone. He dropped to one knee beside her, his large hand enveloping her smaller one with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed against her skin in a soothing rhythm, a stark contrast to the usual firmness of his touch. "Hayden lives. He's nae worse than when we parted."

Her sobs were raw, tearing from her throat as if each one clawed its way out. "But the blood—his wounds," she choked out between the violent waves of grief that wracked her frame.

"Look at me." His command brooked no argument, the laird within him rising to the fore despite the tenderness in his eyes. When she finally lifted her head, her gaze met his—brown eyes locked onto blue, a silent exchange more powerful than words.

"Ye ken I wouldnae lie, nae about this." His voice softened, his kind tone wrapping around her like a warm embrace. Magnus McCormack, the man who had survived countless battles and bore the scars of his tumultuous past, now knelt at her feet, offering solace in the midst of her turmoil.

"He lives?" Erin sobbed, she felt stupid and relieved and exhausted all at once.

"Ye mustnae weep so," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "For yer tears, they cut me deeper than any blade ever could."

As her sobs subsided to tremulous breaths, a new understanding passed between them—an acknowledgment of the bond that had formed, unspoken but undeniable. In the quiet aftermath, as the last of her tears dried upon her lashes, the crackle of the hearth was the only sound—a reminder of life's persistent flame, burning through despair and kindling hope anew. And it was there, in the dimly lit chamber, that the chapter closed, leaving behind a palpable yearning.

Erin turned away, the shame of her selfish actions was too much to bare. She had dragged him from Hayden's bedside, and who knows how many other men were out looking for her. Her back to him, she watched the flames leap in her heath. Those burning the wood stayed strong and bright, while the flames that leapt into the air, flickered out and died. She should have clung to the family who had accepted and loved her.

"Erin," Magnus said, his voice roughened by emotion, "daenae turn away from me."

But she did not heed his plea. Instead, she shook her head, her voice a hoarse whisper, "I'm no good for ye, Magnus. I've brought naught but danger upon yer house. 'Tis me fault Hayden lies wounded."

"Ye are wrong, lass" he declared, rising to his full height and stepping closer until he loomed over her. His shadow melded with hers in the flickering light, an omen that neither of them could escape their intertwined fates. "I refuse to lose Hayden—" here his voice broke, betraying the terror that haunted his dreams, "—and I'll be damned if I lose ye as well."

Her breath hitched, and she turned her head slightly, just enough for him to glimpse the profile of her tear-stained cheek. "Magnus, why do ye care so much? Ye owe me nothin'."

"Erin," he started, the words deep and slow "I love ye."

She stilled, the shock evident even in her rigid posture. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching his as though delving into the depths of Loch Ness, seeking the fabled monster within its dark waters. But what she found was the raw honesty of a man who had known too much pain and yet dared to embrace the possibility of love.

"Ye love me?" Disbelief laced her tone, even as a glimmer of hope shone through the mist of her tears.

"Aye," he affirmed, stepping forward, closing the distance between duty and desire. "More than I ever thought possible."

His confession hung between them, a fragile bridge over a chasm of uncertainty. What would she do? Would she cross it to meet him or turn away, leaving him to face the abyss alone?

In the silence that followed, the weight of his revelation pressed down upon them both, a test of wills and hearts, as heavy as the stones of his ancestors' cairns. Would their story, etched in the rugged landscape of their homeland, be one of love's triumph or tragedy? The answer lay in her hands—hands that could either push him away or pull him close, sealing their fate with the simplest of touches.

"Come back to the castle. If ye really want to leave, I'll have ye taken home in the morrow."

"I daenae want to…" She didn't want to go home, but she had to, didn't she? It was for the good of the clan, wasn't it? She loved Magnus, and she adored her new siblings. This was her life now. She had been happy until Caelan drew his blade. Could she be happy again.

"Erin," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I ken ye fear for me kin, but I need ye to understand—ye are me kin now, too."

She looked up at him, her breath hitching in her throat, the walls she'd built around her heart trembling at his words. The air between them was thick with anticipation, every moment stretching into eternity.

"Ye say ye love me," she murmured, her Scottish brogue wrapping around the words like a caress. "But how can I believe in a love that may cost ye everythin'?"

"Because, mo chridhe," he replied. Erin's eyes lifted. He had called her his heart. Not the one who warmed it, but the wife who had become his heart.

"Without ye, I have nothing left to lose."

The impassioned declaration hung in the air, a call to the wildness within her. Something primal within Erin stirred, responding to the raw honesty in his voice. She raised her chin defiantly, her inner turmoil giving way to resolve.

"Stop talkin'," she ordered, fighting back the sobs that threatened to spill from within.

"Then know this, Magnus Black," she said, her voice steady, "I love ye too. Nae because I must, but because there's nae part of me that cannae."

"Ye cannae?" Magnus frowned for a moment before his face lit up. "Ye can, ye love me?"

"Aye, husband. I love ye."

With those words, Erin closed the distance between them, her hands finding their way to the breadth of his shoulders. She pulled him down to meet her, and their lips crashed together in a kiss that held the fury of a Highland gale. It was a clashing of spirits, a melding of souls that had been starved of affection for far too long. They kissed with a ferocity born of battles fought and scars shared, their embrace a fortress against the world outside.

As they parted, breathless and hearts racing, Erin could feel the embers of desire still burning, threatening to set their very beings alight. Magnus cupped her face with his rough, scarred hands, and the intensity of his gaze bore into her very soul.

"Promise me, Erin," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "Promise ye willnae keep me away from Hayden. He needs me, and I need ye. I willnae leave without either of ye by me side."

"I will be at yer side, or standing alone in the corridor, or wherever ye need me to be."

"Next to me, me love, always right next to me."